


tumblr prompt fics

by brucewaynery



Category: DCU, Marvel
Genre: Angst, Blowjobs, Bottom Steve Rogers, Canonical Character Death, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Mob Boss Steve Rogers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Truth Serum, requisit hospital scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21699679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brucewaynery/pseuds/brucewaynery
Summary: drabbles (<1k) from my tumblr, talesofsuspenses1. stevetony, fluff2. dr. potts + captain stevens, pwp3. stevetony, nano-suit + implied bottom steve4. stevetony, bottom steve5. stevetony, santa baby6. stevetony, a/b/o 'i think i might be pregnant'7. stevetony, "I can't be in love with you"8. stevetony, mafia au, "You're jealous, aren't you"9. stevetony, "You can't die, please don't die."10. superiron drabble11. superiron, truth serum12. bruce wayne at tony's funeral
Relationships: Bruce Wayne & Tony Stark, Clark Kent/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 179





	1. stevetony, fluff

Tony comes up to the common room from his workshop to find Steve sitting there, still in his uniform, sans cowl, elbows on his knees and head bowed. 

“Hey, darling,” Tony says, approaching him. He strokes his hand through his hair, regardless and uncaring of all the dirt and grime that had accumulated in it, and watches as some of the stress and tensions bleeds out of him

“Hi,” Steve says, quietly, lifting his head and attempting to smile. Tony can tell the mission had gone awfully, and that Steve’s probably taking the majority of the blame. He doesn’t push it though, the look in Steve’s eye tells him _later, please_, and he obliges. 

“Do you wanna get cleaned up?” Tony asks, still stroking his hair with one hand and, with the other, tracing his thumb over his cheekbone, fingers splayed over his beard, over a fading bruise. 

Steve nods, almost imperceptible, staring up at Tony. He gently tugs him to his feet and makes their way to the bathroom, undoing clasps on the suit as he goes. Steve’s plaint and cooperative - testament to his exhaustion - and lets Tony take care of him more than he usually would let him, barely talking and pressing light kissing whenever he felt like to whichever part of Tony was nearest.

The shower seems to help him, he even cracks a smile when Tony spikes his hair up with shampoo, catching his reflection in the mirror.

His hand comes up to his face of its own accord, touching his beard. God, Tony’s going to get JARVIS to hack into SHIELD and find out what happened on that mission, because he knows Steve, and he knows it wasn’t him who’d fucked up however badly it had been to make Steve this distracted as to not even notice himself.

“Do you want it gone?” Tony asks, letting go of the shampoo in favour of hugging him from behind.

Steve nods, leaning against Tony.

He works efficiently, with a steady precise hand and whispering endearments all the while that work wonders to get the stressed, tense look off his face in favour of a calmer, more peaceful look, one that told Tony _thank you._

He’s easy to get into bed after that, and Tony shifts them around until they’re in a position they’re in distressingly rarely: Tony as the big spoon, holding Steve against his chest.

“I love you,” he whispers, after JARVIS had dimmed the lights, running his hand through his clean, vanilla-scented hair - he was probably due for a cut, but he looked more boyish and carefree with his hair falling into his eyes and easier into disarray. It was a good look on him.

Steve turns his head to press a kiss to Tony’s shoulder, murmuring, “I love you,” back, finally, finally settled, in mind, body and soul.


	2. dr potts and captain stevens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Potts and Captain Stevens and blowjobs in a supply closet.

Captain Stevens is too perfect, Potts decides one day, after seeing him far too many times to be labelled ‘coincidence’. He’s uptight, every crease on his uniform is perfectly in place and every hair on his head is coated in pomade and flawlessly styled.

It makes him want to mess him up in the way that would land him with a dishonourable discharge. Or the hospital, if the pristine uniform gave anything away. 

He knows it’s a dangerous game, interacting with him more than usual, licking his lips and tracking his eyes with more intent than the teasing repertoire they’ve gotten into suggests, but if the way Stevens’ eyes flick down on occasion mean anything at all (unless his back pocket is just that incredibly fascinating), its a game safer than snakes and ladders.

Captain Stevens is still too perfect.

He pants above Potts, grinning dopily, the barest sheen of sweat cover his face, and holds out a hand to help him up.

“I can’t believe,” Potts mutters, kissing him, forcing his tongue into his mouth, passing on his taste to him, “that after all that, you still look like nothing happened.”

They’re in a supply closet, because that’s how their flirting climaxed; one heated look and a strategically placed closet.

Stevens gets a hand on Potts, palming him through his slacks, and Potts is about to object to coming in his pants when he’s suddenly spun around and shoved against the door, sending a dustpan clattering to the floor, and god, this should have been his plan all along, because Stevens looks so damn good on his knees. Potts reaches out and grips his hair, messing it up the second he touched it.

Stevens keeps eye contact with him, gorgeous blue eyes shining wide and bright in the darkness of the closet, as he tugs down his fly and mouths the head of his cock through his damp boxers, tongue pressing insistently against his slit - the roughness of the fabric of his boxers coupled with the hot, wet heat of Stevens’ mouth and tongue made Potts cry out above him and clench his hand tightly in Steven’s hair, which just makes him moan, adding low vibrations to the rock hard, leaking tip of his cock.

Stevens lets go, and Potts has to bite back a whine at the loss of his mouth, and grins smugly - somehow keeping his rank, status and power, even on his knees.

“This okay?” Stevens asks, thumbs hooked on the waistband of Potts’ pants and boxers, intent clear.

Potts nods frantically and cants his hips up slightly to help him tug them down mid-way to his knees before Stevens takes him back into his warm, soft mouth, making Potts cry out again and it’s not long before he’s coming, muffling his moans by biting his lip, and he’d be more embarrassed if Stevens hadn’t leant against him and brought himself off with short, quick tugs.  
With the last of his strength, Potts pulls on Stevens’ hair to pull him up to his feet and kisses him, pushing his tongue into his mouth and groaning at the taste of himself, bitter and tangy, in his mouth. When they pull apart Stevens grins slightly, then presses a small, sweet kiss to the corner of Potts’ mouth, saying more than he dares.  
Captain Stevens is still too damn perfect, but after forty-something years, Potts has long since come to terms with the fact that Stevens has flaws upon flaws, none of which stop him from loving him, unconditionally and completely, and today, standing with tears in their eyes, Stevens with all his medals gleaming on his chest, against his dress blues, just sets it into law, finally.

They kiss, in front of the whole world - it’s not every day that the General of the Army of the United States gets married to a man - and all Potts can think of is him, and how damn lucky he is to have him, forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send me prompts at talesofsuspenses on tumblr


	3. nano suit, stevetony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The nano-suit wraps around Tony's body in a way that makes it impossible for Steve to look away.

Steve watches the nano-suit wrap around Tony’s body, entranced by the way the red and gold metal cling to his body. Before he knows it, Tony’s three inches away from him and he’s looking up into the armour’s eyes. Up. 

“–ench press over a thousand pounds, faster than sound in less than point-two seconds, six-five… tell me, who do you think is in control now?” Tony says, cupping Steve’s face with the gauntlet, stroking over his cheekbone with his thumb. Steve’s eyes are blown wide, and he doesn’t seem to have noticed that he’s leaning against a table, putting himself even lower than Tony.

“You.”

-

“I hope you know,” Steve says, smiling dopily, as soon as he gets his breath back, “I’m not going to be able to give you orders in the field without getting hard. Too hot.”

Tony laughs, “That was my goal, sweetheart,” he says, brushing back Steve’s hair. He’s so rarely like this - pliant and lethargic, and the wonder never passes over Tony’s head that he gets to see Steve Rogers like this, because of him.

Steve mumbles something he can’t make out and wraps his arms around Tony’s waist and buries his head in his chest. Tony rests a hand in his hair, spreading his fingers through the strands, and presses a kiss to the top of his head when he makes a contented noise, calm and at ease.


	4. stevetony, bottom steve

Tony pushes Steve against the wall as soon as they stumble into his bedroom, taking and taking, heady with it all, already. He’d be more embarrassed at how fast he got here if it weren’t for Steve parallel to him - moaning softly into his mouth and pushing his hips up. 

Tony breaks away from Steve’s lips to trail kisses down his neck, “How do you wanna do–”

“Fuck me,” Steve asks, eyes wide, “please?”

Tony nods frantically, just about keeping in a groan, “Yeah, yeah baby, we can do that, we can do that.” Tony tugs Steve over to the bed and pushes him gently on so he’s lying on his back, legs spread wide. Steve pulls on his shirt and Tony lifts his arms, letting him take it off and toss it who knows where, kissing him silly all the while. The rest of their clothes join the floor as Steve seems to make it his life’s goal to suck hickeys down Tony’s chest.

Tony procures lube from somewhere and, with a deceptively sweet kiss to Steve’s lips, he makes his way down his body, hands and lips everywhere at once, resting at the tip of his cock and the swell of his ass. Tony looks up, mouth, bright and pink, hovers over the purple tip of Steve cock, asking, as his finger circle over his hole, just barely slipping in.

“Tease,” Steve breaths out, shifting to try get his finger in his ass, or his cock in his mouth.

Tony grins, making his breath ghost over his cock.

Steve makes a frustrated noise through his teeth, “Please, fuck me, Tony, please, I want-- I need your cock, Tony, please,” Steve begs, shifting, until Tony, finally, finally slips a finger into his ass and sucks the tip of his cock, flicking his tongue against the slit to make him cry out above him.  
It takes him two fingers for Steve to beg for his cock, writhing around on the sheets, and then another to make sure he’s properly prepped. When he finally, finally rocks in, he’s just on the edge of too tight, caught in a feedback loop of Steve’s kisses and moans and the tight, hot, grip of his ass.

Tony drags his cock over Steve’s prostate, again and again, beating the small, sensitive bundle of nerves until Steve's hardly aware of anything that’s not Tony, or his own pleasure, building and building until his orgasm crashes into him, and Tony follows suite, collapsing into him.  
“That was fun,” Tony says, mildly, when he catches his breath and his pleasure fades into a pleasant, hazy glow.

“Yeah,” Steve says, simply, grinning at him. Maybe they’ll do this for a while.


	5. stevetony, christmas

Steve stares straight at Tony as he croons softly into the mic, hands curled around the stand.

_Santa baby, forgot to mention one thing, a ring_

He sways gently to the music, smiling a little when he sees Tony’s eye track down his body.

_I don’t mean on the phone_

A light blush falls over Steve’s cheeks when he sings that, the furthest he’s gotten from shameless all night. He tips his chin down, so he’s looking up through his lashes at Tony.

_Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight_

Tonys eyes darken when he catches the implications, entranced entirely by Steve and Steve only.

_Hurry down the chimney tonight_

Steve’s lips are the sole focus of Tony’s gaze now, delightfully pink and bright, his tongue flashes, just as pink and bright, in his mouth. Tony knows he’s a goner when he meets Steve’s eyes again, lust blown and heady, like what he’s doing turns him on as much as it does Tony.

_Hurry, tonight_

As soon as Steve finishes, Tony stands up, deciding to ignore the wolf whistles from the extended team, and takes Steve by the hand dragging him toward their room.

“Hurrying?” Steve asks, smug.

“Damn right,” Tony near-growls, pulling him in for a rough kiss and rocking his hips into Steve’s, showing him his effect. “God, you’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“What you gonna do about it?” Steve asks cheekily, laughs turning into moans when Tony pushes him on the bed and does something about it.


	6. stevetony, alpha/omega

“What do you mean, pregnant?” Steve asks, sitting bolt upright, sheets pooling in his lap.

“You know damn well what that means,” Tony snaps, mirroring Steve.

Steve is silent for a long moment that may well have been an eternity. “You’re going to get rid of it.” It wasn’t even a question.

“What if I want it?” Tony challenges, burying the fear of having to raise a pup all by himself, instead letting anger mask his emotions.

“Tony, your-- _our_ lives are too dangerous to raise a pup, you know that,” Steve says softly. The thing with him was that his surprise led very quickly to anger, but once that had faded, all he had left was affection for his omega, and a sense of duty to do right by him.

“I want to keep it, Steve,” Tony admits, ashamed, picking at the duvet.

“Okay,” Steve concedes.

“Just like that?” Tony asks hopefully.

Steve smiles a small smile that does very little to hide his fear, nor his excitement, “Yeah, just like that.”

-

The next morning, Tony wakes to a set of Iron Man themed baby clothes and a note from Steve.

_I want to raise a family with you, love, Steve_


	7. stevetony, "I can't be in love with you"

“Had a good birthday?”

“Yeah...” Steve slurs through a yawn, grinning, “should get drunk more.”

He’s taking Steve to bed, apparently the most trusted to for the job, after the party winds down.   
Tony laughs, “Let’s keep it to special occasions,” he says, patting Steve on his shoulder. He’s, for lack of a better term, utterly hammered, and it’s a good look on him. He’s happy and carefree in a way he so rarely is as their impeccable Captain. Tony’s pretty sure he hasn’t stopped smiling all evening. It makes his traitorous heart skip beats that surely can’t be healthy for a person with a heart condition.

Steve nods, “’Kay,” oblivious to Tony’s inner turmoil. He’s a happy drunk, maudlin for about a second when he’d remembered the last time he’d tried to get drunk, but other than that, he’d been declaring his love and affections for the team and giggling at things only the inhibited find funny all night.

Steve tips himself to the side so he’s leaning on Tony, “You’re a good pers’n, Tony.”

“So are you, bud,” Tony replies, easily taking his weight (he does work out, thank you very much).

Steve frowns, “Don’ wanna be your bud,” he grumbles. Tony pretends that hadn’t cut all his heartstrings then played cat’s cradle with them.

“Not many people do, no,” he says, lightly. He’d thought that they were past that stage, where they were at each other’s throats, refusing to listen, refusing to become anywhere near ‘friends’.

“No,” Steve groans, attempting to facepalm. His fingers slide through his messy bangs and he loses his balance, crashing into the wall. “I wan’ wanna be more than that. Dummy.”

That makes Tony crash into a wall, “You what?”

Steve looks wistful and so damn sad Tony would be willing to fly to the moon on the back of a butterfly if it would make him happy. “Wanna be... wanna be boyfriends, ‘cause you’re nice and pretty 'n smart but I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” And Tony, without question or trial, is going to hell for provoking him. He should put him straight to bed and leave a glass of water on his bedside, he should ignore what he says, because he’s drunker than a rugby player on tour and he barely knows which way is up, let alone what he’s saying.

“I can’t be in love with you, ‘cause you’re too pretty and too nice and too smart, and you’re the best person I know ‘n I don’ don’ wanna ruin that with stupid stupid feelings ‘n shit. Stupid.”

Tony takes a second to process everything that just came out of his mouth, and Steve takes his silence as rejection, or contempt.

“I know. I’m sorry,” Steve says, looking down, “can... can we pretend this never happened. ‘Cause I really like you. Don’ wanna see you gone.”

“Steve,” Tony says, taking his face and making him look him in the eye, “you’re drunk, you’re very, very drunk, but I promise you, I’m not going anywhere, okay. I love you too.” 

Steve looks hopeful, but there’s something in his eyes that makes Tony think he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, “Okay,” he whispers, smiling.  
“Let’s get you to bed, okay?”

He’s pliant and easy to get into bed, but when Tony gets up after tucking him in, his hand catches his wrist, tugging him back.

“Stay?” Steve asks, so vulnerable and open, all Tony can do is agree and slide in under the covers next to him.


	8. stevetony, mafia au, "You're jealous, aren't you?"

Steve needed to flirt with unsavoury people for his job, Tony knows that, all of them do. Doesn’t mean he has to like it. 

With barely constrained unright anger and possession, he watched from the back of the bar as Steve flirts with the target, Storm - a guy in Richard’s crew. Supposedly, they’ve been up to some ‘suspicious activity’, so Steve’s trying to get some information out of him. 

Steve looks gorgeous in the shirt, seams straining to keep in those muscles, playing the part of ‘college art teacher’ the general public think he is. Usually, keeping the identity of the ever-elusive Captain of Brooklyn a secret, only known to his allies and the ones he kills, is a good thing, when Steve had told Tony (a story for another time), he’d thought it was smart - a good way of avoiding the law while enticing fear into his enemies (a mask dehumanises a person) and giving him the ability to perform honeypot missions like these. But today, Tony wants to throw everything and anything he can (including all the very expensive, very custom recording gear he has on him) at this Storm guy.

Steve grins, all bashful and teasing at the guy, and bites his lip. Storm leans down and whispers, “Want to take this outside?” in Steve’s ear. Tony grinds his teeth so hard he almost misses what Nat says over the comms.

“You must be enjoying this, Stark,” she says, and Tony can see her downing her drink and making her way outside. He just about refrains from giving her the bird as she walks past him to her next position, outside. He’s glad that he’s not going to have to watch Steve and Storm make out.

In his second show of incredible self-restraint of the night, he doesn’t acknowledge Steve at all as Storm drags him outside, presumably to kiss him in the dirty alleyway next to the bar, even though Steve deserves something far better than that. Dickhead.

But to his surprise, Steve comes back in not even five minutes later.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets, taking the chair opposite him.

“Hey,” Tony says, as evenly as he can, but something gives him away, because a shit-eating grin spreads over Steve’s face like wildfire.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” 

“I just watched my boyfriend flirt with a very attractive man significantly younger than me, take a guess,” Tony grouches.

Steve bites his lip, suddenly serious “We need to get out, but we’ll talk about this later, okay?”

Tony nods, following Steve’s lead. He’s learned that when he gets like this, back ramrod straight and a steely expression in his eyes, it’s best to listen, follow, and take note of their surroundings. The bar they’re in is in a seedy part of town, lit by a couple low-watt bulbs and utterly crowded, so he can’t really do the last part, but Steve’s presumably found or saw danger.

They make it back to base, drop their stuff, then to Steve’s apartment, where Steve leads them to the dining table.

“I’ll quit, if you don’t like it,” he says, rushed.

“I-- what?” Tony says, dumbfounded.

“If... if you don’t like all this, I’ll quit.”

“What gave you that impression?”

Steve looks hopelessly lost for a moment, “Tonight, at the bar with Johnny... I know I cleared it with you but if you really don’t--”

“Steve. It’s your job.”

“But--”

“I really don’t mind. Promise,” Tony assures, leaning over the table to kiss him soundly, and if later, when they have relationship-affirming sex, Tony leaves more hickeys on him than usual... well it gives Steve’s students something to razz him about.


	9. stevetony, "You can't die, please don't die."

Tony watches it happen in slow motion. He’s too far away to do anything significant when it happens, but stay stationary in the air and just watch uselessly. He’s not drawn the morbid magnificence that is a building falling, iron, steel and cement crashing to the ground, but rather the one lone figure in blue at the bottom, making sure the last of the inhabitants are out. 

When the dust settles, he flies as fast as he can towards it, ignoring the rest of the team yelling over the comms. 

“JARVIS, scan, scan, for Steve,” Tony says, ignoring the way his voice cracks. JARVIS shows an infrared scan of the building, a bright red blur in a sea of blue. Steve. Tony carefully flies towards it, paying no mind to the structural warnings JARVIS displays over his HUD.

“Steve?”

“Tony... get out... not... safe,” Steve coughs out. He’s barely moving, making an effort to get up, but ultimately staying down.

“No--”

“Tony! Out! That is an order!”

“No, goddamnit, Steve,” Tony carefully navigates the remains of the building to get closer to Steve, already planning out an exit strategy.

“Tony...” Steve says weakly. Tony’s close enough that he can see the extent of the damage on him, almost none of his suit is properly intact and he can see the shine of tears in his eyes.

“Stop it,” Tony says, picking his way closer, muting JARVIS when he starts to make louder noises about the structure of the building, “and stay awake while you’re at it.”

He thinks Steve huffs a laugh, but it could have been a cough, but it doesn’t matter, he’s close enough to gather him in his arms. His eyes are blown wide in pain and falling shut.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, keep your eyes open for me, please, please, baby, you can’t die,” Tony begs. They’re almost out of the building, just a few feet, then a couple yards to the medics.

“Love you,” Steve whispers, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Hey, hey, none of that, you’re not dying today, if you die, it’s going to be when you’re old and grey and the serum’s given up,” Tony babbles, silently begging him to keep his eyes open. Carefully, carefully, he makes his way out, trying not to cause the building to fall even more, putting Steve in the stretcher the medics have out.

-

“Not dead,” Steve says, voice hoarse after a week of not using it.

Tony jostles awake and rushes to gently cradle Steve’s face in his hands, “No, no you’re not.”

“Never gonna,” Steve says, dopily, grinning up, then wincing a little when the muscles of his face hurt, and Tony’s reminded that he’s on an absurd, would-kill-a-regular-human amount of morphine. The ridiculousness of it all is a welcome relief after this week.

“Gonna love you f’rever,” Steve carries on, trying and failing to smile.

Tony kisses him on his forehead, above a fading bruise, “I love you forever too, sweetheart.”


	10. superiron

“You’re going to give me grey hair, you know that?” Clark greets, dumping his things by his doorstep. He can practically hear his ma telling him the hook for his bag is just a couple feet away, but he’s far more interested in Tony, on his second-hand couch, wearing his old Metropolis University sweatshirt. 

Tony shrugs, “You’d look good as a silver fox,” he says, though Tony’s fairly certain that Clark could pull off anything, he does wear those godawful glasses with his god-worse flannel every day and it only makes him marginally less attractive.

“We’d match,” Clark says, grinning. He just about dodges the cushion Tony throws at him.

“Dick,” Tony says, though the vulgarity is ruined by the way he sticks his arms out. Clark, as he always does, and always will, obliges him, hugging him, then pressing a small, sweet kiss to his temple.


	11. superiron, truth serum

“—and the stupid thing is, your pretty doesn’t even make sense! Like, okay, _I’m_ pretty, Nat and Diana are pretty, Thor is pretty, hell, sometimes even Steve is pretty, but your pretty is also handsome, because you’re Superman, and you’d expect your handsome to be the manliest of the manliest, except your also pretty in a delicate which makes fuck all sense and—” the rest of Tony’s sentence gets drown in a pillow that he forces over his face. Clark, the pretty-handsome-bastard that he is, gently tugs it away.

Tony just had the pleasure of being doused in a gas (thank you, Mr. Mxyzptlk) that forced him to spill all his thoughts in the past six hours, in hopes that he’d blurt out Stark Industries trade secrets on megaphone to the entire eastern seaboard, however, Superman, his, as the ever-credible Daily Planet like to put it on occasion, ‘knight in blue spandex (that really, really leaves deliciously little to the imagination, Tony’ll tell you) and fluttering red cape’, came and saved the day and any potential secrets from being found out.

Unfortunately, the effects of the gas stayed. Clark has been fully prepared for a spiel about engineering he had maybe twenty percent chance of understanding (his engineering knowledge extends to old tractors and whatever Bruce likes to talk about when he’s stressed), he hadn’t, however, been expecting a long unbroken stream of pure Tony ‘legally certified genius with many many PhDs’ Stark thought on the paradoxical nature of his bone structure.

His boyfriend is cute when he’s talking (who’s he kidding, his boyfriend is cute always) and he’s especially cute when he’s talking about Clark. So sue him, he likes to hear that’s he’s ‘pretty and handsome in a way that isn’t even human because he’s an alien but Zod was incredibly ugly so it’s not a Kryptonian thing, just a Clark thing’.

“—and the thing is, you’re very classically attractive, like Prince Charming, except that would make me a princess which the Planet already think I am, though that might just be your influence, but then again who wouldn’t listen to someone that good looking, even in those glasses and the awful flannel you’re so goddamn pretty and handsome, and have I ever told you, sometimes i wish you forget to take your flannel shirts when you leave so I can wear them because you’re very big and smell nice.”

Tony lets out a long breath, “I think that’s it,” he says, sheepishly.

Clark does what any good man in his situation would: he tackles him down and kisses him silly, until he’s breathless and panting and flushed a gorgeous pink with his hair in a complete and utter disarray and Clark doesn’t ever remember getting a punch in his chest as hard as the one that slams through his ribs with the realisation _holy shit, I’m wholly, inescapably, incomparably in love with him_.

“I think about you all the time, too.”


	12. bruce wayne at tony's funeral

Even further behind Nick is another man, around Tony’s age, in a three-piece he knew Tony would have appreciated. No tie, of course. Earlier, Alfred had held up two different ones that would have matched perfectly. He’d almost cried then.

A younger man, almost subconsciously, tightens his hand around his father’s, trying to offer, or gain, some comfort. It’s the closest both of them had come to crying in a long time.

A long time ago, Bruce Wayne had been jealous of Tony Stark. Not when their companies were competing and Wayne Enterprises stock dipped below Stark Industries, or when he was ahead in clean energy, not when he had parents and he didn’t, not when it seemed like the world had put so much damn responsibility on Bruce’s shoulders and next to none on Tony’s, but the way he’d looked at life, the way he’d stared it right in the face, grinned and taunted it to challenge him, throw whatever it could toward him, and a constant promise that he’d be there, throwing something right back.

Bruce has seen Tony at his worst, during the winter of ‘91 and the following decade, when he’d put everything and anything in his body without a care of quality or quantity or if he’d wake up the next day. Bruce was there when he got his stomach pumped, both times, he’d seen what the palladium did to him, he’d watched him fall from the sky all those years ago, but none of those times had Bruce really, truly believed that Tony Stark would die.

He doesn’t know when his friend had become immortal, become a god amongst men.   
He’s half expecting him to jump out of the bushes with a grin and tell the crowd not to be so sombre, it’s a lovely day, after all.

Bruce stopped believing in magic a long time ago, so he can’t fathom why he’s disappointed when Dick tugs him away, when the sky has, inexplicably, turned dark and the stars, so much more than you could see in Gotham, shine bright.

They walk to the car in silence and both slip into the back. Bruce is thankful that he asked Alfred to drive them. He’s not sure that he, or Dick, could’ve driven safely.

Dick’s seen Bruce cry so few times in the time that he’s known him, and he can barely remember the last time he had, he’s almost forgotten that he _could_. He’s trying to hide it by facing away, looking out the window, but his shaking shoulders and the tears that glisten on his jaw give it away.

**Author's Note:**

> comments + kudos are greatly appreciated! all these fics go up on my tumblr, talesofsuspenses, first so follow me on there + send me prompts.


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